Questions on Sanity and Make Believe Reality
by NewYorkBreakfast
Summary: "'Cause at the end darling, we're all insane. You and I are a really bad idea, but you know I like those." {Jelsa Two-shot}
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer : I do not intend to glamorize mental disorders, which are not meant to be taken lightly. This is merely a work of fiction, a product of my endless daydreaming and imagination. To whoever is reading this that is going through any problems alike those mentioned, or _any _issues for that matter, stay strong, for you are important and special to me :)**

**Image source is from weheartit.**

**Hope you find this interesting~**

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_**\\\Questions on sanity and make believe reality\\\**_

**Part I**

_Schizophrenia ::_

_A group of severe disorders characterized by disorganized and delusional thinking, disturbed perceptions, and inappropriate emotions and actions._

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**_x_**

It wasn't her fault she liked to daydream a lot, and it wasn't her fault what she thought was different from society.

"Are you sure you've been taking your medication, Miss Snow?" She pressed her lips into a straight line, fists curled up in a tight ball against her thighs, the material of her skirt cool as a result of the powerful air conditioning in Mr. North, her therapist's room. Jack didn't like the temperature of this place, he hated it nearly as much as she did.

She nodded once, chewing the inside of her cheek, hoping he wouldn't notice she was lying. She'd been lying for five months now, and she liked it. She trusted herself to differentiate truth and fantasy, whether they believed her or not. Jack did, and it was all that mattered. Jack said she didn't need the stupid pills, they just made everything fuzzy and made her live in a constant nightmare, when all she wanted was to be happy, to feel special.

Mr. North's mouth was opening and closing constantly, his words like white noise, not a single syllable stuck in her mind.

"Hey El, can we leave now? I don't like this place." Jack groaned and tugged at his snow white hair, restless.

She shook her head subtly at Jack's request and sucked in a breath. "Mr. North. I was told it was okay to be different. I'm unique."

He tapped his pen against his writing pad and bit his lip. She could tell he disliked her as much as she disliked him.

"Well, that's true," He began slowly, "you _are _in fact unique Elsa-"

"Don't call me that. Only my friends call me that." She frowned.

He sighed. "Miss Snow, you are unique but it's a different unique. It's not that good, and I can help you fix that, if you follow my instructions and take care of yourself."

She slammed her fists on the table and closed her eyes, breathing in and out slowly. "I'm tired of all this bullshit, Mr. North. There's _nothing _wrong with me. Jack is smarter than all of you and he says so. He says I'm special. I'm perfect. You're all delusional." She turned to the left to face Jack. "Right, Jack?"

He grinned and put an arm around her, "Right, Elsa."

Mr. North furrowed his eyebrows, leaning forward ever so slightly.

"Who are you talking to, Miss Snow?"

**_xxxxx_**

Jack was sitting at the edge of her bed, gently tugging at his long hair, frustration scribbled all over his features. His once bright blue eyes now a dark, sullen blue-grey, eyeing Elsa as she sat with her knees pulled up to her chin, rocking back and forth ever so slightly.

It's been nearly two hours since she came home from her therapist appointment, and she was clearly unhappy. She's refused to see anyone except Jack for the past one hundred and nineteen minutes, which ironically no one could see.

"El, talk to me! Stop ignoring me, please." He scooted over to her side and frowned. He tried to pull her into a hug but she immediately shifted her position as soon as his arm moved. He looked sad.

"Can you please, talk to me? Are you okay?" Elsa looked up at him and pressed her lips together, looking at her feet. "You need a haircut."

He burst out into a wide smile. "Thank goodness, I thought you were never going to talk to me again." He pulled her in and rested his chin upon her hair, which was usually a very comforting gesture, but Elsa felt awkward and uncomfortable under such close proximity with someone she didn't even know was truth or just a figment of her endless imagination.

"Tell me, Jack." She pushed herself away from him, raising an eyebrow. "How come I'm the only person who can see you? Like, why can't anyone else see you too?" The question had been bugging her since forever, since Jack came here.

Since Jack came here from nowhere.

He just popped up.

Oh.

Jack sighed and let out a light chuckle, "I'm your guardian angel. I'm here to protect you from everyone who hates you, who thinks you're crazy, which you're not. You're perfect." He nodded. She nodded, slightly comforted.

"Then where's your family? Where'd you come from?" She paused for a moment. "What's your middle name?"

He laughed, a lovely warm sound she loved to hear. Maybe he really was an angel. From this place her foster mother told her was Heaven. Where she'll go to after she dies. Where no one would dislike her. Where everyone was as nice as Jack.

"I'm your guardian angel. My job is to protect you. The only person that matters around here is you. Not my family, not me, not anybody." He grinned. "You're the only person that matters in this whole world. And all we need is each other. No one cares about anyone else."

She smiled. They liked each other a lot. They were soul mates. They needed each other. End of story.

He made her happy. And that was all that mattered.

_**xxxxx**_

Sometimes, she missed her friends.

It's not like they mattered much, but they were once her best friends. Once. Once because Jack said they used to, and after she was diagnosed, they just pretended. They were fakers.

Fakers were as bad as people like Mr. North, who genuinely hated Elsa.

As her guardian angel, Jack protected her and ridded the world of evil for her. So he taught her how to protect herself. He taught her how to use a knife. Even a gun once. But he always reminded her to clean up after solving problems like fakers and haters. Because cleaning up was always a good practice. Plus Elsa liked clean places.

She remembered Astrid. The pretty blonde girl from English class at her school. They sat together every day and talked about all kinds of things. Maybe they were close, but she forgot.

Jack accompanied her to Astrid's house that day with a knife in her backpack and some cloth and detergent. She didn't really like blood but Jack said she deserved a bloody death for how she betrayed Elsa, for how she started giving her the cold shoulder after she was labelled as a mental person.

Which she was not.

They went to Astrid's house together at around eight o' clock at night when she knew her parents were on vacation. She followed Jack's instructions on everything from chopping her head off to dislocating all of her limbs because she so often bragged about being pretty and athletic and having a supermodel physique, which she often continued with laughing at Elsa about her skinny, pale appearance, and all the bruises she had on her body from hurting herself.

So she felt a little guilty for murdering (or solving a problem as Jack said) what was once her close friend and told Jack how she felt as they washed up the living room floor and cleared it of blood stains. He casually shrugged and said, "She deserved it El, no one deserves to be treated as badly as you were." Which was true, so she nodded and kept quiet, neatly filling up the large sack with Astrid's limbs and torso, folding it and lastly severing it with a knot.

No one ever found out. Because Jack helped. And he was smart at things like that.

_**xxxxx**_

"Elsa," Jack suddenly appeared out of nowhere, like he always did. She was used to it.

She sat cross legged on her bed, the sheets crumpled and her hair an unruly mess, sticking out in all directions from her hastily made French braid. She chewed on her bottom lip, a single pill in her palm. A glass of water on her table.

She's been thinking about taking her medication for real now, because she lay in bed thinking about things all night. She thought about how her guardian angel could be so cruel if it indeed came from Heaven, such a beautiful place she was told.

And beautiful places didn't produce beautiful people with such ugly hearts.

Or maybe they did.

"Elsa! What are you doing?" He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration, storming over towards her and forcefully grabbing hold of her wrists.

"Stop!" She shrieked, "It hurts! Stop it!"

He quickly let go of her hands in fear of her foster parents rushing over at the sounds of her screams. "Shhh, El, hush. Relax. I'm so sorry." She rubbed her wrists which were a pale shade of red from his tight grip a few seconds ago and frowned. She was unhappy and confused, but she remained silent.

Something kept nagging at the back of her head that angels were good. And angels didn't ask someone to murder someone else. It was wrong.

But she wasn't sure.

"Elsa, I want to let you know that I love you a whole lot, and you're really important to me. And I know for a fact your foster parents don't like you for who you are, and that's bad." He frowned. "We have to get rid of them."

She suddenly remembered when Jack first came into her life, when he hurriedly passed her a rifle from nowhere and instructed her to shoot.

Her biological parents were at the dining table discussing the weather perhaps, or maybe about the television program. She'll never know.

Her fourteen year old self emerged from the staircase, aiming directly at the both of them and shot them dead. Two minutes. One hundred and twenty seconds.

She didn't really hate them, but Jack said they hated her and viewed her as a burden to the family. Which she wasn't. So they deserved to die.

Police officers came, did all their weird investigations and whatnot, but no one suspected her. Because Jack helped. And he was smart with all these things.

She was shook back into reality by Jack, who was worried and frustrated. "El, stop taking your pills! I told you they just make you delusional like everyone around us, and I don't want that to happen to my last friend!" He seemed on the verge of tears while she still sat there, confused.

"Elsa," He passed her a gun, "your foster parents have to die. You can solve this problem, I know you can. Come on." She frowned and slammed her fists into her pillows.

She grabbed her head with her hands and screamed, howled with all her might, blocking out whatever Jack had to say, because she didn't want to know.

"Why do you keep making me kill all of my friends and family? What do you _want _from me?" She shrieked, tears rolling down her pallid cheeks.

He was angry and balled up his fists tightly. "I'm just trying to protect you! Why can't you _see _that!" He took a deep breath, "I'm the only person you need in your life! They're all mere distractions! Delusions!"

She knitted her eyebrows in determination, and swallowed her pills. She immediately had a severe headache.

Jack was unhappy, very unhappy. He appeared and disappeared rapidly like animations on a cheap TV screen, a look of disappointment etched on his face. He screamed.

Then it was all gone.

She couldn't take it. Her heart was beating too fast, she didn't like this.

She's killed too many, she's a murderer. She shouldn't have done these cruel things. She deserves to die.

She heard her foster parents footsteps approaching her room and quickly ran up to lock her bedroom door. Jack appeared beside her.

"Kill them." He looked tired.

But she already made up her mind.

She pressed the gun to her forehead, the cool metal of Jack's favourite toy forming a red ring on her pale skin. Jack was gone, she was alone, her foster parents were banging on her bedroom door.

She smiled, a sad one, and pulled the trigger.

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**Note: Okay, phew. So I'm pretty nervous about this, and whether you guys hate it or love it. (If anyone even chooses to click on this for that matter) This is meant to be a two-shot, but the next part to this would be something like a short epilogue of sorts, it won't be as long as this, just a conclusion. And I hope you'll stick around for it :)**

**So, I apologize if what I wrote isn't what it actually is like for an actual person with a mental disorder, as I only did some brief research and the rest was just imagination. If there's anything wrong or you're unhappy with anything here just let me know, and I apologize.**

**So on a lighter note, I'm sorry for this long a/n and I'd like to thank you for reading this :) Hope you'll stick around for the next part and do follow/favourite/leave a review and all that jazz~**

**~Stay awesome, NewYorkBreakfast**


	2. Chapter 2

_**\\\ Questions on Sanity and Make Believe Reality\\\**_

**Part II**

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It all happened so fast.

One second he felt his throat sore from all the screaming he did, and Elsa's silhouette was flashing before his eyes in his desperate attempt to hold on to the last piece of what was his only friend. The next, his throat was dry and scaly, his sweaty figure lying on his bed with it's ugly grey sheets and nauseatingly green pillow cases, an awful combination.

He didn't want to take his pills, but they forced him, his stupid parents. Now instead of being able to spend most of his time with Elsa, he was forced to stay wide awake in a never ending nightmare of judgement, brightly coloured pills and the constant drowning in feelings of utter powerlessness.

He couldn't kill whoever he wanted here, nope. No getting rid of problems and people he hated. He'd have to start all over again in _this _new nightmare. But he couldn't even if he wanted to. He wasn't an adult yet, and he was labelled as 'mental' by society. Such an ugly thing. No way he could get his hands on a gun.

He collapsed on to his bed and breathed in and out. Two pills a day. A bright, sickening white.

Maybe what everyone wanted was for him to live in a nightmare, just because not everyone could escape into their own little piece of heaven and feel special and loved everyday with amazing friends like Elsa and power and control over your own happiness and the ways of the world. They were jealous.

So, what anyways.

A nightmare is a nightmare, without Elsa every where's a nightmare.

He hadn't meant for her to die, really. He loved her too much. But maybe such an ugly world wasn't meant for someone as beautiful as Elsa. She belonged elsewhere, a fairytale maybe. He liked fairy tales as much as she did, he remembered.

He swallowed the pill and got up from his bed. He walked over to the little bookcase he kept above his mini study table.

While flipping through various titles he knocked over a hideous pencil holder. One of those school projects you were forced to do for art in middle school, it was ugly, but it reminded him of more innocent times, where things were simple and everything was cheery and fine.

There was a fountain pen amongst all the half used erasers and chewed pencils. It had a decent, sharp tip.

So maybe he didn't have a gun, but he could improvise.

After all, he won't get caught, 'cause he was smart at things like that.

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**Note : So, that was disturbing as heck.**

**I'd like to thank you, wonderful homo sapien out there for bearing with me and my twisted mind for idk how long, just thanks :)**

**So basically, if you're confused, Jack actually has schizophrenia, where he can't differentiate reality and fantasy, and Elsa is just a figment of his imagination, so are her friends and biological parents that died. So basically, no one dies.**

**But then Jack is forced to take his meds where he's once again drawn back into reality (a nightmare to him) and yeah. God knows what'll happen with him and that fountain pen.**

**So thank you beautiful people :) for giving me a chance and all, till' next time.**

**Cheers, NewYorkBreakfast**


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